Shatter
by Winterbloom
Summary: When the world begins to shatter, how's Hermione going to pick up the peices? Warning: not suitable for die-hard H/R shippers!
1.

Shatter

Shatter

By Winterbloom

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Disclaimer:It's the usual message, folks.I don't own any of this, except the concept.Everything that is recognisable as part of the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling, the god of my idolatry.Though why you'd think it belongs to me, I have no idea.

This is something of a longer fic, a first for me.Beware, all you H/R shippers, this probably isn't the fic for you.There's trouble ahead for the wonder couple, and when the world begins to shatter, Hermione has to find a way to pick up the pieces.The rationale for the rating will come later as I work this story out, and the chapters will appear as they are written and beta-read.Thanks for reading and even bigger thanks for reviewing.I might write faster that way.After all, reviews are the cure for the sluggish Muse.

Kudos to my big, brave beta-reader of doom, Valkyrja.You're a doll.I told you I'd write more angst-ridden fics eventually.

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**Chapter I:**

Silence

_"The cruellest lies are often told in silence."_

~Robert Stevenson

_Have you ever done things simply because they're what you're supposed to do?Because that's what everyone wants you to do, expects you to do?Because it's all you've really done?Have you ever just gone with the tide until you've been so miserable for so long, you've forgotten how to be happy?_

_I should be happy.I should count my blessings every night.I'm head of my class, Head Girl, even, as if that was ever a question.I have a boyfriend who adores me.I should be happy._

_So why is it that I have to keep telling myself that?And why is it that it never, ever is true?_

_I'm one of the Three.Harry, Ron and Hermione.Every witch and wizard up and down the British Isles knows about us.Hogwarts buzzes when we do something daring.I'm the smart one, Ron's the loyal one, and Harry is…the Boy Who Lived.We're the sidekicks, he's the hero.So the boy sidekick dates the girl sidekick, and everyone is happy.He dotes on me, tries to protect me.He tries to be everything to me.And he's oblivious._

_There are times, Ron, when I simply want to hit you, to crack you upside the head and watch you fall.There are times I can't stand your very presence.There are times I wish I wasn't "Hermione, Ron's Girlfriend."I want to simply be Hermione Granger, Head Girl, Gryffindor 7th Year.That's enough for me._

_So why can't I tell you?_

_Why don't you notice?_

_And why am I so afraid to let go?_

_ _

_ _

It was an autumn day too much like any other, at least, so it seemed for Hermione.The wind blew, gently playing with her chestnut curls, tugging at her cloak like a puppy anxious to romp around in the late afternoon sunshine.The golden light was beautiful as it played across the various figures zooming around on brooms above the Quidditch field.Time at Hogwarts had been kind to Hermione Granger, transforming her from the awkward, imperious girl she had been into the lovely, self-assured young woman she was now, her eyes lifted skyward, almost mercurial as they watched Ron and Harry fly.One hand was lifted to her brow to shield the sunlight from those eyes, and she tried her best to feign some kind of interest in the antics of her best friend and her boyfriend.But it was hard, nearly too hard as she clutched some books to her chest with one arm.It was as if the Potions text was some kind of shield between herself and the rest of the world, a shield behind which she could vanish into her own thoughts and leave Hermione, dutiful, smiling girlfriend and Head Girl, in her place.But she couldn't hide, and all too soon, Ron caught sight of her.With a grace that defied description, Harry descended, Ron trailing behind.

It was a good day for them, and Hermione could see that almost immediately as they touched ground. Lightly, they bantered back and forth, debating Gryffindor's chances against Slytherin this year, interspersed with teasing and good-natured ribbing.Ron, as if finally realising he had a duty to perform, came over to Hermione and kissed her cheek."Slytherin can't touch us this year, right, love?" he asked her eagerly.

"No, can't touch us," she responded automatically with a smile that somehow didn't reach her eyes—or her heart.Though she turned to Harry, and the half-smile broadened, becoming genuine."Hullo, Harry."

A grin, and Harry ruffled her curls gently."You look beat, Mione.Long day?"

A nod, and Hermione realised dimly that Ron had slipped his hand in hers."Unlike some people, I can't spend my time larking about on a broom for hours," she quipped.

"You're not lucky enough, that's all," came Harry's reply, accompanied by a cheeky grin as he looked up at the sky, the sweet turquoise of it."It's going to be a good year, I think."

_Is it?_ Hermione wanted to ask, but she kept her thoughts silent as Ron and Harry went back into their endless banter, leaving her forgotten as they began the walk back to the castle.It was always this way, or so it had seemed last year.It appeared that this year was going to pick up right where the past one had left off.Hermione, quiet, dutiful, doing her part as the girl sidekick.Ron and Harry, bantering constantly, joking constantly, leaving her their forgotten shadow.She didn't really blame them.Is she had been in their positions, she wouldn't have necessarily remembered herself, either.

"Dinner, then, love?" 

The sound of Ron addressing her directly caught Hermione off guard, and out of habit, she replied, "Yes, dear, of course."

"Great.I'll meet you there in a few.I need to talk to McGonagall for a second."With that, Harry was gone, and Hermione was left wondering what exactly had been going on as they had walked.

"You know, love, you ought to get some rest.Harry's right, you do look beat.Lay down for a bit, later, maybe?"

"No," Hermione responded softly."I'm fine, honestly.Just have a lot of work…things on my mind, you know?"

Ron smiled, drawing her closer as they walked to the Great Hall for dinner."My angel, always working."

"Something like that."

"Harry!"

The call gave Harry pause as Ginny Weasley rounded a corner to grab his attention.Hermione was not the only one to whom the past few years at Hogwarts had been kind.Ginny, the youngest of the Weasley brood, had developed curves that Harry swore needed a warning sign and a veritable lion's mane of shining copper curls.Her face, too, had matured, sweetened, giving her a devastating combination of sass and innocence.She had the potential to be a heartbreaker.Harry knew this full well; after all, Ginny had practically cut her teeth on his heart.He sighed softly, a gentle smile touching his lips as he waved.

"I'm glad I caught you," she panted after her mad dash to catch up with him.

"You're awfully excited to see me, Gin," Harry responded brightly.

"Well, you're hard to catch, Mr. Quidditch-Star-Seeker-etc…"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that, at the face Ginny pulled as she said it."I suppose you're right.What's up?"

Ginny looked around, then put her hand on his arm and drew her closer."Look, is everything all right with Hermione and my brother?" she asked in a hushed, furtive voice.

Harry frowned a little."I don't know, why?Everything seems okay, doesn't it?"

A shrug, and a pause."There are times I think you only have eyes for the Snitch, Harry."She looked distinctly unpleased, and Harry really couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed something monumental and obvious.

"Gin, a little more information would be great."

Another shrug, and Ginny brushed imaginary lint from her robes."I don't know…I just get this feeling.She has that look in her eyes."

"What look?"The distinct gut reaction that Harry had indeed missed something of importance was growing.

"You are blind," Ginny told him."Just this look in her eyes…no wonder you don't have a girlfriend, the way you pay attention to women."

Harry gnawed thoughtfully on his lip, looking from Ginny to the floor, then back again.Had he really been ignoring Hermione?That wasn't possible."Look, Gin, I really think you're over-reacting or something.She and Ron looked perfectly happy a little while ago.Mione's just tired.She works too hard, this is a given, and with NEWTs coming up and everything…well, honestly, what do you expect?"

Ginny gave him a look that would have frozen the Thames."You're oblivious._Men_," she breathed angrily, then turned and flounced angrily back towards the Gryffindor Common Room, leaving Harry to stare after her, befuddled as could possibly be.

"They have to be all right…I mean, this is Ron and Mione.They just have to be," Harry murmured to himself, heading down to dinner as he mulled over the distinct possibility that it didn't have to be that way at all.He didn't feel like he had been ignoring her, but then again, it was hard to tell.After all, he was Harry Potter.The world just wouldn't be the same if trouble, disaster, heartbreak and heroics didn't follow on his heels wherever he went.At the moment, however, none of those things trailed him.Merely a sense of doubt, and a concern that seemed to grow in the pit of his stomach, threatening to devour him like some kind of parasite.

The Great Hall was a bustle of activity, a cacophony of voices and laughter.It was soothing, in a way.Normal, expected and welcome.Automatically, Harry went to the Gryffindor table, his green eyes fixed on the couple in question.Ron was eating hungrily, talking between bites as Hermione stared at her plate, nodding and giving an affirmation to reassure him of her continued consciousness, never mind her opinion on whatever the subject in question may have been.She looked…miserable.Harry wondered if he had really been this blind all along, or if this was a recent thing.He rather hoped it was a recent thing.He'd like to think he paid more attention to Hermione or Ron.With a sigh, Harry took his usual place next to Ron, but not before tousling Hermione's curls affectionately, making her smile a little.That made him feel better.Things couldn't be all bad if she still smiled.Could they?

Too many times, I don't know how to talk to you, how to talk to anyone.I'm more comfortable with my books, with ambitions for the future.Do you even have ambitions, Ron?I never hear you talk of anything in the future, save for things that involve me.You want to be my husband, and there are times I think that is all you want out of life.Don't you know how that sickens me?How it makes me feel trapped, a bird in a cage left to beat her tiny wings against the bars helplessly.I want so many things.I want to do it all, to be the best person I can, to help as many people as I can.I've often thought of training as a medi-wizard, and with a conflict with Voldemort looming in the future, I'll be needed.Are you oblivious to this, too, Ron?Are you convinced Harry will save the day and we can just skip off to somewhere else and not have to worry?Have you gotten so settled, so dependant on order and stability that this is all you see ahead of you?That's how it seems to me anymore.All you want is stability and order, maybe to play Quidditch or do something else fun and not in the least practical, and have Hermione, dear loyal Hermione there to hold your hand and clean everything up when you can't.I don't want to clean up your messes, Ron.I don't want to endure Quidditch matches and lie to the world as I pretend to be your devoted little wife.

_Wife…husband…marriage…_

_Do you know how much those words scare me, Ron?I'm waiting for you to ask, and I knew you and the whole of Gryffindor, if not the whole of Hogwarts, expects me to say yes.I feel like the entire world is pressing on my shoulders, expecting me to accept you and be your devoted little pet for the rest of my life.I can't bear the thought of it.I don't know how to make my mouth say yes.I don't know how to say no, either.I resent you and your assumptions so completely, it eats at me every moment I'm with you, and sometimes when I'm not._

If I didn't consider you one of my best friends, Ron Weasley, I'd hate you…

Hermione trudged up the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room, and she was thankful that Ron was nowhere to be seen.She wasn't sure if she could deal with him any longer today without snapping at him, without biting his head off for irritations and failings real and imagined.It was like too many other days, Hermione reflected as she automatically gave the password to the Fat Lady and the portrait opened, allowing her to climb through, he books in tow.Surprisingly, Ginny was right there, and she smiled upon seeing the younger girl.

"On your way out?" Hermione asked, trying her best to sound chipper.She'd settle for moderately interested at this point as she sat down her books.

"No, actually, I was on my way out to find you," Ginny replied, reaching down to pick up the tomes."Advanced Potions?Lord, no wonder you look so miserable this early in the year."

Hermione laughed a little, dismissing the notion with a shake of her head."No it isn't so bad…"She reconsidered, and then nodded."Well, yes, it is."Another chuckle, and she looked to Ginny curiously."So what do you need?"

Ginny looked a little put out for a second, her brow furrowing."Look…this is a personal question and all.I don't expect you to answer or anything, really I don't."

Hermione headed towards the girl's dormitory, picking her way up the stairs as she looked behind her occasionally at Ginny."You make it sound desperate, Gin."Upon reaching the top, Hermione made a beeline for her own bed and began to tuck books away in an orderly fashion, one of her unrelenting habits.Ginny smiled a little, watching her, then shook her head.

"Not desperate, not really."

Hermione straightened, pushing her hair out of her face."Well, then, ask me."

Ginny paused, dithering mentally, wondering now that she was confronted with her decision if this was such a fantastic idea after all, the direct approach."Mione…are…you and Ron.Are you happy?"

Hermione paused for a long moment, running her hand over the coverlet of the bed, smoothing the wrinkles out of the soft fabric.Ginny had struck a nerve, and Hermione was desperate to just come out and tell her the truth.But she didn't know if she could do that.Though she loved Ginny and counted her as a dear friend, she didn't know if this was something she could honestly discuss with Ron's sister."Why do you ask that, Gin?" Hermione replied softly.

"You seem miserable.That's all…and….I know my brother.He can be as oblivious as…as Harry at times.I just…I don't know, I worry, I guess.Looks like I take after my mother after all."Ginny pulled a face, making Hermione laugh a little once more.

"You worry too much."

Ginny shook her head a little."No, not really."

"Why wouldn't Ron and I be happy?"Yes, Hermione begged mentally, tell me the reasons I have been thinking all along.Validate this for me; make it seem clearer than it is right now, please.

"He's oblivious, that's the truth.And I don't think he pays enough real attention to you.And you always have this look in your eyes whenever you're with him, whenever he touches you, like you're drowning or something and you have no idea what to do anymore."

Hermione was surprised that she didn't wince at the accuracy of some of Ginny's observations.For a long moment, she was silent, unwilling to give Ginny confirmation though she was more than correct on a great many issues.But she had to save face, didn't she?After all, Ron needed her so much.Hermione knew that.And to pull away from him now with his sister, to confess it all and let her know, that would be pulling away when he needed her.He always needed her."I don't know, Gin."

"He needs you, I know that.You're his world, all he talks about at home sometimes.Mum practically is waiting for the wedding announcements to be sent in the post.But…oh, I don't know.Am I completely wrong?"

"About Ron?I know he needs me," Hermione told her, dodging the question as posed artfully, her fingers still smoothing the soft coverlet, though all the wrinkles had long ago yielded to her fingertips.

"But are you happy?Please Mione.Tell me if I need to stop worrying about this, or else I'll have to go pester him."

Hermione sighed.No, she wanted to confess, I'm miserable.But as she opened her mouth to say as much, she found herself replying, "No, Gin, I'm really happy with everything.No worries."

And inside, Hermione began to scream.

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Ahead in Chapter II:So how unhappy is Hermione?Miserable now?Oh, just you wait.It gets worse.More angst, and plans for a masquerade at Halloween ahead.Ask yourself a question: What kind of jewelry does a girl expect from a Weasley?


	2. Glass

  


Welcome back, you brave non H/R shippers. Jewellery, angst, questions and answers abound in this chapter. Gems mean something, did you know that? As do flowers. Chrysanthemums symbolise honesty, purity and are, ironically, one of the flowers left on graves in many cultures around the world. Red roses are a universal symbol of passion, ardent love and desire. November's sunset-colored birthstone, the topaz, is the symbol of love and affection and is said to aid in sweetness of disposition, bring you friendship, and ensure the fidelity of the one you love. Amber is a symbol of the sun, and aids the bearer in brightening your outlook, improving your situation overall and giving you strength. Just something to consider as we plunge back into Hermione's life.

Yet again, here's to my big, bad beta-reader of doom, Valkyrja. Glad you're digging the similes.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, do you hear, nothing! I just borrow from the Hogwarts universe, then place everybody nicely back in their box, if slightly more angst-ridden then when I found them in the first place. JK Rowling, don't eat me for breakfast, thou magnificent one!

** Chapter II:  
Glass**

_ "It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die,   
than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience."  
_ ~Julius Caesar

_ Oh, Ron...I thought I might be able to end this clean, quick and easy. You aren't going to give me that chance, are you? You won't let me make this easy on both of us. You won't let me walk away with my dignity; you won't let me give you some semblance of pride. I wanted to do this for both of us, so that I could touch happiness again, and so you could find someone who really loves you, who really cares for you like a wife ought to care for you. But I'm not going to get the chance to do that, am I?_

I heard you and Harry talking last night. I was going to fetch my Potions text from the table downstairs, and as I crept downstairs, I heard the both of you talking. I paused, dead in my tracks, unwilling to walk into the conversation, more interested in what you and Harry had to talk about so late at night. Yes, I eavesdropped on you. You'd do the same, were you in my place, were you helpless and without a voice, afraid to speak. I heard the snap of the ring box and the sharp intake of breath from Harry. 'Oooh, Ron...are you sure?' he asked you, and there was silence for a moment-I can only assume you were nodding-and then you said, 'Of course. She's crazy about me, Harry, and...well, I can't see my future without her in it. This is the real thing, can't you see? She's meant for me, she makes me a whole person. She makes everything better. How can I let that go? She's the one, Harry. I'd be a nutter to let her slip through my fingers.' Harry was silent, and then you said softly, 'I'd die without her, I honestly would. I'd have nothing--no future, no dreams, no hope anymore. Don't you understand that?' 'I think I do,' he told you in reply. 'You understand, then? You'd do the same if you were as crazy for her as I am?' 'You have to do what you have to do, Ron. I've said this for years. My opinion doesn't matter. It's your decision, ultimately. Just so long as you're happy and Mione's happy.' 'I'm ecstatic, and of course she's happy. Why wouldn't she be?' And with that, I crept up the stairs, sobbing silently until I could drown my tears in the pillows and pray for some kind of peace that would permit me to sleep. I cry myself to sleep almost every night. No small wonder Ginny worries about me so much. You can only chalk it up to stress so long. Maybe I ought to make a sleeping potion and be done with it all.

Why, Ron? Why did you have to say that? Why do I have to endure this day, the entire thing, knowing you'll ask me today? After all, it's the night before Halloween. Our anniversary. I'll go through the motions, wearing the necklace you gave me, the one with the silver leaves and amber flowers. I'll leave my hair down, the way you like it. You'll give me flowers, I know it. Will you remember I fancy white chrysanthemums more than roses this year, Ron? Or will you get me the same red roses you try to make me love every year? Three years running, three years of dried red rose petals in my trunk, kept in a tiny jewellery box my mother gave me, kept in the same place where I keep the necklace, bringing it out only when the occasion warrants it. I love it, and I'm afraid to wear it. Afraid to get too attached to it then have to give it back when this entire world you've crafted shatters around us. Afraid to get too attached to anything, only to watch it shatter. 

I'm glass, Ron. I'm going to shatter. Only you can't pick up the pieces.

Hermione took a look in the mirror, watching Ginny fuss with her hair and apply makeup, a procedure that Hermione had rarely undergone willingly and had never requested. Yet Ginny, in her own way, seemed to understand. When Hermione's reticence to speak became apparent that evening before dinner, Ginny more than willingly filled the air with her own bubbling chatter. 

"Colin Creevey asked me to go with him to the Halloween Masquerade. It is the first Masquerade ever, and I know he's dying to go, but I don't know why he chose me. After all, everyone knows that Arabella, this Ravenclaw a year below me just dotes on him. If I have a choice at all, I'd rather go with Harry, honestly. It's so much simpler, you know? But it doesn't really matter who you go with, with the masks and the magic to ensure no-one recognises each other until the stroke of midnight. I'm so excited! Wait until you see my costume, Mione, it's to die for, honestly. Fred and George are doing so well with their joke business, so they sent Ron and me extra money for this term. I've never been able to say my name in the same sentence as 'extra money,' you know?"

Hermione watched Ginny put the last few touches on her curls, letting the ringlets work their way down her back, the colour of autumn, of toffee, of sweet chocolate, of a million other things, rich brown with a tinge of gold to the highlights. "I think it works, Gin," she announced, fastening the amber necklace at her throat. The silver settled at the collarbone, cool and sparkling in the light.

Ginny smiled in appreciation. "Consider this a test run for tomorrow night. I have some ideas that'll just floor you."

Hermione tried to smile and took the other girl's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Off to dinner, then, I suppose. I know Ron's planning something."

"Of course he is. Now get going, or else you'll keep him waiting too long." Ginny laughed, and hugged Hermione. "Just wait until the dance, Mione. If you don't knock the boy over with how gorgeous you are now, tomorrow you sure will." With effort, Hermione managed a chuckle, managed to rise from the bench before the vanity in the girl's dormitory. "Thanks," she whispered, fiddling with the sleeve of her robe. For a long moment, she looked at her reflection. Whenever Ginny did her makeup and hair, Hermione could never get over how much older she looked, how beautiful, even. A genuine smile settled on her features, and that only helped to make her nearly radiant. Everything would be fine. He wouldn't have sense enough to ask her tonight. She had to believe that. Her head held high, Hermione went down to the Common Room, where Ron was, as per usual, waiting for her. Hermione waited for him to say something, anything about how she looked, but nothing came.

"Happy Anniversary," he managed after a moment, brandishing a bouquet of red roses at her. Hermione took the flowers, slightly less than thrilled by this, but she did her best not to let it show. After all, he meant well...that was what mattered, wasn't it? 

"I'll take those up for you," came Ginny's voice from the stairs behind them; gratefully, Hermione turned and handed the flowers off to her. Ginny winked, and made a shooing motion with her free hand, as if to encourage the reluctant-and obviously so-Hermione.

"To dinner, then?" Hermione finally asked, and Ron nodded, taking her arm possessively. It always made Hermione uncomfortable, this display of control, but she had never said as much, never brought it up. It would only hurt his ego, she told himself, and Ron nursing wounded pride was a horrific sight. For a while, she had fought it, given him a piece of her mind and stormed off. Or he stormed off, one of the two. But a year or two of that, and Hermione found that she didn't have the desire to do so anymore. It never occurred to her now to fight him on the point. It was simply a fact of her life with Ron. She'd leanred to never bring his fits of pique on if she could help it, and it was with this mindset that she endured being paraded about, especially now as they headed down to the Great Hall. Hermione could simply feel people looking at her like an object, seeing her as simply Ron's Girlfriend as they walked to the Gryffindor table. He pulled out a chair for her, his eyes never leaving her, and Hermione felt as if she was going to be sick. She sat quickly, her hand clutching the table for support so tightly that her knuckles went as white as the tablecloth.

"You all right?" Ron asked, noticing the colour drain out of her face behind the makeup, the ferocity with which she gripped the table. 

"Fine," she managed in reply. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

As the meal wore on, leaving Hermione to pick at her food, to push it around with her fork, she found the nausea, the sense of dread wasn't leaving. If anything, it was growing in intensity, and it was only with her willpower and sheer refusal to make a scene in front of everyone that held it off. If nothing else, Hermione reflected, she had pride. Happiness, peace, affection, all of these had passed her by, but she still had her pride. Ron was ignorant of this, chattering away, and Hermione felt as if he was unaware of her, merely talking to the air to satisfy some need he had for conversation. He was funny, but in a way that made Hermione's skin crawl, that made her cheeks flush in embarrassment. Since when had Ron embarrassed her? For a long time now, a voice answered her, and inwardly Hermione cringed. Had it all come down to this? Had it all deteriorated so quickly? _Stop kidding yourself, Hermione Granger. This was not quick. It was slow, painful and horrific._

"Love, want to walk outside with me? It's nice out," Ron asked, getting up from the table, and Hermione found herself jarred back to reality, almost painfully.

"Of course," she responded automatically. This, however, was not the time to go on autopilot. Deep in her bones, Hermione could tell something was coming, and she had a sinking suspicion she knew what it was. Ron took her arm again, guiding her outside as if she were blind and knew nothing of her surroundings.

The air was crisp and chilly, almost downright cold to Hermione, and she felt goose bumps begin to appear across her skin. Hermione willed herself not to shiver, for fear of arousing one of his deadly protective streaks. She hated those. They were endearing at first, the sense that there was someone out there to ensure her safety and well being, but by this point, they were...old. Just like everything else. She looked up at the stars, at the moon that was almost full, and it seemed to beam back at her, as if to say 'hang in there, it'll be okay.' Hermione, however, wasn't certain if she shared the sentiment anymore.

"Here, have a seat," he told her, guiding her to sit on the bench, and as always, Hermione did exactly what he wanted her to do. She looked up at Ron, and watched as he fiddled with something in the pocket of his robe. Was this it? Hermione froze, and her eyes were like those of a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. The look passed as she forced herself to appear normal, to not let him know what was going through her mind.

"What is it, Ron?" she finally asked after several moments of silence had passed.

Ron took a deep breath, ceasing to fidget as he spoke softly to her. "We've been together a really long time, love. And...you know I love you, and I know you love me. We've been crazy about each other for years. You're a part of me, the best part of me. You make me whole, and I'd die without you. So...please. Marry me." With the last few words, he was on his knee, holding out an open green ring box towards her. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to look at the box, at the ring she knew to be inside it. She couldn't hide from this forever, and she dreaded to see the ring Ron had procured for her with the extra money Ginny had told her about. Steeling herself, she opened her eyes.

There in the box was a simple silver-coloured band-was it white gold, Hermione wondered-and set in the centre of the band was a square topaz the colour of sunset. Set in a channel around it, going halfway down the band, were small diamonds. She looked from the ring to Ron's face. He seemed eager, nervous and ecstatic all at once, and again, Hermione cringed inwardly. This was not the ring of her dreams, not in the least. It was pretty, and quite different, but this wasn't what she had dreamed about. Like so many other things in her relationship with Ron, it seemed her engagement ring would fall flat, too.

"Oh, Ron," she sighed, and he seemed to interpret this as a positive sign.

"Is that a yes, dear, is it?" he asked her eagerly, leaning forward a little.

Hermione wanted to say no, and the word was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be given voice by her vocal chords and the air in her lungs. But her vocal chords had all ready proven untrustworthy with Ginny, had always proven untrustworthy with Ron, and though she wanted with everything in her to say no, to run away from this situation that had gone from bad to worse, she couldn't. She opened her mouth to speak, and found herself saying, "Yes, Ron."

Ron was elated. He pulled the ring out of the box, and tossing the box aside, he slipped it on her finger. Distantly, Hermione realised that her hand was shaking, that she was shaking. She also realised that he was kissing her. It was one of those empty kisses she'd endured over the years, filled with something on his side while she tried to mimic it, praying he would interpret her reticence as innocence, as delicacy. "We'll be so happy, love, just watch. Everything'll be perfect," Ron told her between kisses, giving her just enough time to reply simply.

"Just perfect."

**********

Read on for the Masquerade Ball at Hogwarts. Costumes, flirting, mystery and intrigue abound. What happens when the clock strikes midnight? And what kind of costume does a Weasley wear?

All's Well That Ends Well: glad to see there's someone else out there that thinks the Ron/Hermione relationship isn't meant to be. I'm writing as fast as the Muse permits. She's testy, especially in humid weather...much like my hair...


	3. Masquerade

Welcome back, guys and gaias! This was a difficult chapter to make happen. Aside from Microsoft word eating everything but the Hermione pov section at the beginning twice, real life tended to take over. However, my Muse returned in full force Saturday night et voilá! Lots of angst, costumes and dancing. If you've ever heard a band called "The Changelings," the music at the Masquerade sounds suspiciously familiar. Look for some "Princess Bride" references, some "Romeo + Juliet" imagery, maybe some "Rent" and "West Side Story" similarities. 

As always, hugs and love for my amazing, ficlet producing, angst-encouraging beta-reader of doom, Valkyrja. It's all good. 

Disclaimer: Oh, you foolish people, to think I, the lowliest author the South has produced, might own anything at all related to the magnificence that is Harry Potter. I am agog and aghast at such a supposition. JK Rowling, the most amazing one, owns all of them…I just make them angst-ridden. 

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** Chapter III:  
Masks**

_ "Masquerade, paper faces on parade...  
Masquerade, hide your face   
So the world will never find you..."  
_ ~Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber, _The Phantom of the Opera_

_ So you asked me, and so I said yes, and as if that wasn't bad enough, I hate myself for lying to you like this. For lying to the world like this. And as I stare at that glittering topaz on my left hand, as I contemplate writing the letters home, as I listen to the congratulations echoing through the Tower, I think I'm this much closer to hating you, Ronald Weasley. I don't even fancy topaz, but you didn't bother to consider that. Granted, it's perfectly lovely. And yes, it is similar to the colour of my hair in the sunlight. But it isn't me, Ron. I like sapphires. But like red roses, you put this gem on my hand because you love it, not because I do. Is that what life is going to be from now on? We do what you like because you like it? No matter how many times I told you otherwise, red roses. And now topaz. Ron, didn't you even think to ask Ginny what I like? Or did you simply decide and charge in like a tiger after its prey? Harry could have told you that I love blue, as could Ginny. They could have both told you, because they still listen to me, even if you don't. You hear me, but you don't listen. And that makes all the difference in the world. You never hear what I say anymore, Ron. I'm your ornament, now. Your little wife, bought with propriety, her own cowardice and a damn topaz. My world is shattering around me. And all I can do is whinge about your choice of stone. Is this Fate? Did someone somewhere decide that I was going to go through with this for their own perverse pleasure? Did they decide to cheat you out of a loving wife and me out of a chance at happiness? We're both loosing here, Ron. You think you've gained the world in me. I see this for what it is. It's a death sentence for me. In a movie you've never seen because you've never bothered to learn about the Muggle world, a princess is being forced into a marriage while her true love is being tortured. She says to her pig of a fiancé, "If I must go through with this wedding, know that I shall be dead by morning." Now I understand why she said it. Ginny and Harry were the only ones who weren't loopy with joy for the two of us. Ginny knows better, I think. Once you live with a girl, she knows you fairly well. All she has to do is see the fanatic gleam in your eyes and the emptiness in mine. Ginny knows. And she'll never say anything to you, Ron. She thinks I need to have more pluck. Maybe she's right. And Harry…Harry has his own reasons none of us can fathom. He's always been like that, since we first met him. He's something we can never understand, and because we can never understand him, because we know he needs us, we love him all the more. He's vulnerable beneath all that armour, beneath being "The Boy Who Lived." I used to think he fancied Ginny. Now I'm not so sure at all. He had a hungry look in his eyes as he looked from Ginny to me. He clasped your hand, gave me a hug, and then merely stared at Ginny for a moment. I swear they talk without words. Then, Harry was gone. Now I'm left to plan a wedding. A wedding I wish I never have to endure. How do I tell my folks? They'll know this isn't right. They'll make me explain why I'm getting married to you, and I can't because I don't even know myself anymore. I don't know anything, save that I'm miserable and I don't know how to open my mouth to you except to say "yes" and "no" when conversation calls for it. I'm some kind of puppet, a doll with no spirit anymore. Just dress her up, put her on Ron's arm all in white and send her down the aisle to the altar. But is it marriage or sacrifice? I wish I were dead. I'd rather die than go through with it. Dear God, what have I done...?_

Ginny bustled in the room she and Hermione shared in the Gryffindor Tower. She was resplendent in soft, flowing azure robes sparkled with silver, silver ribbon giving the bodice shape, accenting her curves as well as the low cut of the costume. With her tiny azure and silver slippers, as well as the silver swirls across her bare skin, it was fairly obvious she was dressed as a loose interpretation of a naiad. Her red hair was laced with silver glitter, and an azure and silver mask fitted over most of her face, glittering with swirls and waves as she smiled at her reflection. A little bit of perfume, something cool and mysterious, and she was done, ready for the Masquerade. Confident in her appearance, she called out, "Mione? If you don't let me do your hair, we're never going to get there on time!"

Hermione emerged from behind her bed where Ginny had been unable to see her. A fairly simple white dress of satin flowed across her form. It left her shoulders bare, came to an empire waist, and then cascaded to the floor. The neck, little puffed sleeves and the hem were all trimmed in a shimmering gold. But the crowning achievement of the ensemble were the white wings on Hermione's back that seemed to shimmer gold in the light as well. Ginny had to admit that where she was alluring, Hermione was breath taking. "Is everything all right?" Hermione asked tentatively, and Ginny nodded mutely.

"Let me get your hair up, then we'll get the mask on. And once we enter the Great Hall, no-one knows us from Pansy Parkinson until midnight," Ginny told her as Hermione took the bench at the vanity, and Ginny began the laborious task of pulling up Hermione's hair. However, with some charms and a little bit of smoothing potion, the work was accomplished in what Ginny thought was good time for the effort required. Braided and coiled for the most part, with tendrils left to fall about Hermione's face, Ginny helped her settle the mask on her face, a concoction of white feathers and gold that covered her face from her nose up to her forehead. Almost as an afterthought, Ginny selected a small white vial of perfume and dabbed a little at Hermione's throat, wrists and temples. "Beautiful. Just beautiful, Mione. I told you that you would be." 

"Do you really think so, Gin?" Hermione asked, her voice a mixture of emotions Ginny couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Of course I do!" Ginny replied with a gentle, ginger hug to avoid mangling the wings. "Now let's go, or we're going to miss all the fun."

The Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle had always been decorated for Halloween in such as fashion as to inspire awe, and every year crowned the year before. However, most agreed that this year's decorations for the masque were beyond expectations. The ceiling glittered with diamond stars set in a midnight blue velvet sky, a full Harvest moon lustrous as it slowly glided towards its apex in the night sky. The walls were hung with tapestries of darker shades of each House's colours, draped around candelabras and covered with silver spider webs. The ghosts were out and about, their silver forms luminous in the shadowed recesses of the hall. In each niche were usually torches lit the Hall, there were found elaborate jack-o-lanterns instead, each beaming with malevolence. Bats fluttered across the hall, and it seemed a great many of the owls had come to join in the festivities. A combination of a chamber orchestra and a contemporary band, clad in the most Gothic fashions the wizarding world as well as the Muggle could provide, filled the hall with music that was ethereal and haunting. 

Slowly, sometimes alone, sometimes in clusters, students began to arrive. Though they came to the doors of the Great Hall grouped, they entered alone, and a curtain of magic descended, allowing only the knowledge of one's own costume to shine in one's memory. Dumbledore had decided a night of pure anonymity might prove beneficial in a time when it seemed House tensions were higher than usual. True enough, the competition between the Houses, Slytherin and Gryffindor particularly, was fierce, and there had been more than one injury on the Quidditch field and in the halls. Yet that ceased to matter as the magic of Halloween swept up the students of Hogwarts in her embrace. The decision to include only the upper level students, sixth and seventh years, was a sensible one. After all, they needed the break from studying more than the others, and the seventh years especially clutched at every memory they could take from Hogwarts. Dumbledore, as always, was more than willing to oblige.

Hermione arrived towards the end of the influx of people, as Ginny predicted. With a squeeze of her friend's hand, Hermione slipped in the Great Hall, and into anonymity. Her wings were slightly difficult to navigate, and to her surprise, she garnered more than one admiring glance, sometimes stares. Hermione had forgotten what it was like to be admired, or so it felt to her. She was so used to Ron and his obliging, expected comments. Or, she corrected herself mentally, the lack thereof. She glanced down at her hand, and frowned. She wasn't going to think of that tonight. It was barely nine. She had three hours to be no-one. She had three hours to be herself, not Ron's girlfriend-no, Ron's fiancée. And she was going to take full advantage of that fact, come hell or high water. After all, Hermione reasoned, she might never have the chance again.

The music was intoxicating, dream-like, adding to the haze of the evening, and despite initial inhibitions, couples began to take to the floor. The dances for the most part were slow, almost formless, allowing the costumed revellers to glide across the floor like mist. Hermione was hardly neglected. First, a dance with a Phantom of the Opera character who kept coming back for song after song, leading with startling grace and agility on the floor. A Viking asked for a dance, and despite his shock of red hair, she was reminded of Viktor Krum for a long moment. However, when his poor dancing skills showed their colours, Hermione supposed she was dancing with Ron, though she wasn't really certain. Mask after mask, beast and fiend, domino and dragon, idol and champion, all spinning her around the floor in a miasma of rhythm, laughter and motion.

It was when Hermione was about ready to give up dancing for the evening that her last partner showed himself. Hermione hadn't seen his costume as she danced, and as she sat, gathering herself, he came out of the crowd. No-one seemed to notice particularly much, and neither did Hermione until he spoke.

"Will an angel consent to dance?" he asked her quietly, and Hermione looked up at him at the sound of his voice. A knight in silver was holding out his hand to her. On his shoulders and arms was the traditional plate mail, coming down to his wrists, leaving his hands in black leather gloves. The costume continued in a tunic of silver chain mail, black breeches and black knee boots. A silver mask obscured his face, and a black cloak was swirled over one shoulder, giving him an air of drama. 

Hermione could only stare for a long moment at this knight errant, listening to the ethereal waltz beginning in the background. Then she smiled, almost radiantly so, and put her hand in his gloved one. That was all the response that was needed, for he gently pulled Hermione to her feet and out onto the floor. White wings and a black cloak, gold mask reflected in silver, two perfect opposites swirling in perfect waltz time around the Great Hall. Hermione felt as if her heart had to be in time with this mysterious knight as well, so perfectly did they match time. "You dance well," she murmured.

"It's easy when you have an angel for a partner," came his soft reply, and Hermione puzzled over who at Hogwarts would speak to her, or any girl for that matter, like that. She flushed crimson, the colour starting high in her cheeks behind the mask and cascading down her throat. "An angel who blushes, too."

"Too often," she said softly, and he chuckled softly.

"Hardly. From what I can see, it's becoming." 

Hermione laughed softly, as did her knight, the sound soft and oddly silver, much like his costume. The rest of the waltz passed in relative silence, Hermione lost in eyes that seemed so oddly familiar. Her hand felt tiny in his cool gloved one, and she could tell beneath the armour he was slight and wiry. He was built like a Seeker, or a dancer. Not like Ron she reflected for a moment. Ron had grown into his position as Beater, his arms getting thicker with muscle and effort every year. Harry was wiry, just like her knight. A thought struck Hermione, and she almost lost the three count of the dance. What if this was Harry, this mysterious knight errant in black who had appeared with sweet words and a gentle grace? _Get a grip on yourself, Hermione. This is no time to spout poetry._ Yet something in her wanted it to be Harry, wanted it to be someone she could trust. Perhaps he hadn't been so approving of Ron's announcement. Perhaps it wasn't Ginny he fancied so much after all…but these were mad thoughts brought on by a shade of ignorance and the sheer desperation she felt. It couldn't be Harry, no-one knew anyone else. He couldn't have picked her out of the crowd...could he?

The song, like all beautiful things, came to an end, and like the other couples on the floor, the knight bowed to Hermione, and she returned the courtesy with a low curtsey. "Would you care to go for a walk?" he asked softly. "Midnight's going to come soon, but I don't particularly fancy dancing with anyone after dancing with you."

Hermione took up his arm as well as his offer. "In any other circumstances, that would be far from charming."

He smiled as he let her through the doors of the Grand Hall first. "Amazing what anonymity will do." 

Once more, Hermione felt colour flush her cheeks and her throat, but as an unspoken answer, she laced her arm into the proffered one of her mysterious knight. As they left the Great Hall, Hermione noted that nothing changed, unlike when she had entered. She was at once both curiously disappointed and glad. Disappointed that this knight would be no sooner revealed to her, and glad that she remained a mystery to him. She didn't want the look in his eyes to change when he saw her not as this angel, but as Ron's Fiancée. Not Hermione Granger, but an extension of one of the Gryffindor Beaters. That thought ate at Hermione as they walked. There were other couples about as they left the castle proper for the cool comfort of the grounds, but each were wrapped up in the words and the embrace of their partner that one more pair of revellers didn't seem to matter. It had been that way, once, reflected Hermione. She and Ron had been inseparable, true friends and devoted companions. She'd listened to every word from his lips, and he had shared her every dream. They'd been as two halves of the same whole, yet things changed. Times changed, and as they grew older, he grew more possessive, more protective. The Dream Team turned into Ron and Harry with Hermione as back up, to make sure she didn't get hurt. She was kept back, safely, as if she was going to break. And now that she was going to break, now that she felt as if she was being ripped apart, she was on the front lines. And ironically, the man who swore he'd protect her was the one doing the most damage. As in all things, there was nothing fair about it, but that was the was the story was going. Hermione knew better than to try and fight, than to upset everyone. Perhaps that was her mistake, she reflected, for being so unwilling to rock the boat. Her parents had even noticed how quieter she'd gotten, how less willing to speak out, to make her presence known. It was only now, with her history written and her future hardening into place that Hermione saw her own downward spiral. Was there anything she could do about it now that it all seemed nearly over?

"You seem so far away," came her knight's voice, and Hermione was startled back to reality.

"Do I?" she asked softly.

"Very." They had reached the edge of the lake. It was one of Hermione's favourite spots to go when she wanted to be alone, and she'd spent many an afternoon in the spring out on the gnarled root of a tree, studying or just enjoying the quiet. Now her knight chose it to be with her, and Hermione sat on the gnarled root as she had a thousand times before, only this time she deftly navigated her wings. He sat next to her, keeping far enough away that Hermione could tell he had some manners and wasn't out with her for more carnal purposes. "You could talk to me, if you wanted to."

Hermione hesitated. She couldn't just spill all her troubles with Ron out to a stranger. But what if this was Harry? The thought came unbidden, and Hermione contemplated it for a long moment. If this was Harry, she could tell him. There was no-one else at Hogwarts with a build like him, who cared for people like he did. This had to be Harry. If it wasn't, Ron would find out about her unhappiness through the rumour mill. At least he would find out, she thought glumly, and that was enough to make her speak. "Have you ever started something wonderful and become so swept up in it, nothing else matters? And when things start to go bad, you don't see it until it's too late? Then you're stuck, you don't know how to get out of it, you don't know what it's like to be happy, and overall you're just...smothered."

Her knight looked at her for a long moment. "I think I can find something similar in my past, angel."

"Can you? I'm terribly sorry if you can."

"I am, too."

His voice sounded oddly empty, almost cold for a moment, and Hermione shivered. She wondered absently if normal people had these many problems, if she would have had so many problems had she always been a Muggle. Issues, it seemed, came part and parcel with the wand. 

"Look up at the moon," he said softly, the cold, empty tone gone now. "I often wonder how many people are looking at that same moon all over the world. And for how many people, it's the last moon they'll ever see."

Hermione shivered. "Such dark thoughts."

"When a person wears black, they're rarely all sweetness and light," he quipped.

Hermione shivered again, and looked away. "I suppose not," she finally said lamely, feeling somewhat unsettled.

"Don't stop talking," he finally said. "There's more to this, I know."

Hermione sighed. "It's been going on forever. Everything was delightful at the beginning, or I was simply a fool. A fool who fancied herself in love. But I'm not anymore, and now he's asked for a commitment, and I made it. I don't know why I did! I didn't know how to say no. I didn't know how to say anything other than what he expected of me. I know I'm a coward. And I whinging about it to you instead of doing anything about it. I hate myself for that, and I resent him even more." Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyes. "It's as if I don't exist to him anymore, not properly, not unless it's convenient for him and it looks good. And yet he prattles on. Do you know, he never once used my name all last year and all this year? He didn't even use my name when he proposed!" Tears began to slip from her eyes, running down her cheeks and the inside of her mask, dripping off the gold to drop on the satin of her dress, spotting it darker with sorrow and desperation.

"I didn't mean to make you upset," he said, softening, and he reached out to gently take Hermione's hand. With the other, he retrieved a handkerchief and wiped at the tears delicately, concern in his eyes as he looked into her.

"I have no idea who you are, and I just spilled all of this..."

He silenced her by placing a gentle finger to her lips. "I get the feeling no-one knows who you are. Do you always wear a mask? I'm certain I've never seen you before, not here."

Hermione shook her head. "I've been here for seven years."

"As have I. And I should know you. You've dazzled me. You're every bit of light and goodness I've ever seen, and yet, your eyes are so sad."

"Yours, too," she told him. "Sad. Almost empty sometimes, glittering others, but always sad, always distant." He was staring into her eyes, and she was more than willing to return the gaze.

"I know we know each other. That wasn't a dance, that was..."

"A walk in the clouds," she finished softly.

"A waltz in the clouds," he corrected her.

"It was like a dream. I've never danced with anyone like that."

"You were happy, too. I'm glad you were happy. You need to be happy more often. You need to smile and blush, and be radiant like you were when I asked." He was barely centimetres away now, and Hermione tightened her grip on his hand.

"I'd forgotten how to be happy," she whispered.

"Then let me show you how," came his infinitely soft reply as he bridged the gap between them to press his lips to hers in a tender, gentle kiss. Hermione had never tasted anything as sweet as his kiss. It was like honey touched with cinnamon, a spice at the edge of delight. She slipped her arms about him, clinging to him as if she were a drowning sailor and he her life preserver. She felt him hold her as well, press her to him, sheltering her from the world so filled with troubles. It was achingly warm, and it left Hermione dizzy. When he broke the kiss, she refused to let him full away, bringing her lips to his, clutching tenaciously to the only touch of passion, of tenderness and longing she'd felt in so long.

The clock in the Great Hall struck midnight, the chords ringing out through the castle and across the grounds. The magic of the evening began to shimmer and fade, leaving reality to come into focus. Hermione looked up into the eyes of her knight, and felt her heart jolt in her chest.

"You?" she whispered, her arms still about his neck.

"You?" came his response, and Hermione was surprised at the shock with which it was delivered, not vehemence. "I...I don't know what to say..."

Hermione was simply left speechless as she stared into the silver eyes of Draco Malfoy.

**********

Next chapter: Ever see "West Side Story"? Remember what happened when Nardo caught Maria kissing Tony? Good. Prepare for something similar. Accusations, realisations, complications and misinterpretations occur all over the place. What does a Weasley do when he catches his fiancée in the arms of his arch-nemesis?

Portia: keep the home fires burning for the H/R camp. They will be needed in the chapters to come. A. Spinnet: good deduction! We all wear masks, and Hermione wears more than most people. But what about her knight? Glad you like it so much, and hopefully your Muse will work with you and mine with me. Catherine: of course angst is not a surprise with me! It's me! Griff: the shattering begins. Keep reading and the pieces continue to fall. 


	4. Pride

Oooh, I left you in a spot of a bother last time, didn't I, brave souls? Hermione and Draco? Is this possible? Or is it more than possible? Now you can find out who was what among the Gryffindors, and you can guess at some of my symbolism. Look for some Shakespeare references, one of the big three to whom allegories are made in literature. Not that this is literature, just a generic heading. This chapter has been held up by my odd production schedule and my new job. You see, I make it a point to have at least one chapter finished before I post another, simply to ensure there's something upon which I can fall back. Well, between the humidity, work at Subway (don't ask me about the damn subs) and my Muse going on holiday to the hp-hogwarts universe for a while, Chapter 5 was hard pressed to manefest. However, my Muse and I have made a deal over some whiskey sours, so on with the show… 

As always, muchos gracias to my charming and ever-enthusiastic beta-reader of doom, Valkyrja, who takes time out of writing her own ficlet to help me along out of her love for Draco, a fellow sailor on the SS Leather Trousers. 

Disclaimer: Me? Own anything vaguely resembling the Potterverse? Why, you mistake me for JK Rowling, the amazing, beautiful, talented woman that she is and whose books I am barely worthy to read! 

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**Chapter IV:  
Pride**__

"If you'll just consider this-even if it don't make sense  
All the time-give it time  
And when the crowd becomes your burden  
And you've early closed your curtains,  
I'll wait by the backstage door  
While you try to find the lines to speak your mind  
And pry it open, hoping for an encore  
And if it gets too late, for me wait  
For you to find you love me, and tell me so  
It's ok, don't need to say it."  
~Fiona Apple, "I Know"

_If anyone had told me that at midnight, Halloween in my 7th year at Hogwarts I would have been Ron Weasley's fiancée and kissing Draco Malfoy, I would have laughed at them. I would have called them a liar, figuring they'd gone soft._

I would have been dead wrong. 

__

The Great Hall was filled with laughter, raucous and infectious. The Gryffindors had all found one another with ease once the spell had lifted, and were gathered around each other. Harry had removed his Phantom mask and Ginny was teasing Ron about his Viking horns as Seamus tried not to stare at her too much, blushing beneath his blue woad. 

"Where's Mione? I thought she would have found us by now," said Harry, nudging Seamus in the ribs.

"What was her costume?" he asked, rubbing his side.

"She was an angel," Ginny pipped up, giggling a little watching Harry and Seamus. 

"I did dance with her, then," Ron said, and there were a few nods, including Harry, Seamus, Colin and Dean.

"I didn't realise that was her," Dean said. "She was really goregous." More nods to this statement as well.

"And what about me?" Ginny asked, pouting as Dean went crimson.

"You're just amazing, Ginny," Colin told her, making her laugh again.

Harry frowned a little. "But where is she? She wouldn't have left, would she?"

"She didn't seem really enthused about the whole thing," Ron said, and both Harry and Ginny frowned.

"Look, I'll go check the Common Room and everything, okay? You guys...figure something out," Ginny told him, and with a toss of her fiery mane, she slipped through the crowd, away from the gawking boys she left devastated in her wake.

"Ron, your sister-" Seamus started, but before he could finish, Harry jabbed him in the ribs.

"Knock it off, Seamus. Look, Ron and I will scout around outside. You guys look around the Great Hall and the castle, okay?" Harry, as usual, took charge, giving Seamus a glare. A general consent, and Harry and Ron struck off towards the grounds.

"I don't know why she would have run off," Ron said irritably, taking off his helmet. "I wanted to be able to see her at midnight."

"I don't know, either, Ron," Harry told him, though his heart wasn't really in it. He'd hoped to see Hermione, too. In all honesty, he had some things he wanted to tell her. If what Ginny had been saying was true, then it seemed that Hermione and Ron were heading straight for disaster. Although how to tell either of them that would be an exercise in tact. Harry wasn't sure if he had enough tact to do that. "Look, do you think Mione's really happy?" he asked.

"Sure!" Ron was scouting about, trying to pick out a pair of wings. "Dammit, I have no idea where she might be."

"Ron, listen. I don't think...and well, Ginny agrees with me...I mean, she cries a lot, and she's quieter than usual..."

"She's just overwhelmed. My sister likes to read romance novels." Ron scowled.

"I'm not so sure about that," Harry replied softly, and Ron stopped abruptly.

"Look, Harry, I don't know what you're getting at. I've told you, I'm head over heels for her, and I know she feels the same way for me."

"But what if she doesn't? This is your future, both of you! How do you know, did you bother to ask her?"

"She wouldn't have agreed to marry me if she didn't love me!" Ron thundered back.

"Ron, stop it," Harry said suddenly, and he put his hands on his friend's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "You talk for Mione a lot, don't you realise? You tell her what she's thinking and it bothers me and Gin that she's stopped telling you off when you do it. Did you stop to think that you told her what she was thinking when you asked her to marry you?"

Ron was quiet for a long moment, considering this, his eyes darting from Harry to the ground and back again. "I think you and Gin are overreacting," he said at length, shrugging out of Harry's light grasp.

"No, we really aren't," Harry protested. "You've got to be honest with yourself!"

"I think you're just jealous," Ron shot back, beginning to walk away. "You're jealous of Hermione and I, that's what's eating at you."

"Ron!" Harry was slowly reaching the end of his rope with this track of conversation. "I am not." He hurried to catch up with Ron, drawing closer to the lake as they argued. It glittered silver in the moonlight, and there was more than one couple there.

"I think you are. Why else would you think of all this stuff? And my sister...she's my sister. She'll listen to anything you say."

"She's the one who suggested it to me!" 

"And you believe her?"

"Well, I mean she's with Mione all the time and...." 

"And she has crazy ideas!"

"Ginny does not!" Harry sighed. He didn't have enough tact to do this, after all, and he wasn't too keen on getting into a fight now, not with Ron. "Right. Look, let's just find her, okay? Make sure she hasn't gotten into too much trouble."

__

Hermione, had she been in her right mind, would have pulled away by now. But, she realised, she wasn't in her right mind. She was sitting on a log by the lake with her arms about the neck of Draco Malfoy, and he with his arms about her. They stared at each other in abject shock.

"I really don't know what to say," he repeated, and Hermione was surprised to note that the supercilious air with which he usually carried himself seemed to have disappeared.

"You said that once already," she offered quietly.

"And you aren't pulling away and screaming. Which one of us is more daft, you or me?" he asked, a tinge of humour in his tone.

"Point taken."

Draco chuckled a little. Hermione could still hear the silver in his voice, reflected in his eyes. "You know what the craziest thing about this actually is?" he asked softly.

"I could think of a few things, but try me."

"I still want to do this," he answered. Before Hermione knew exactly what he was going on about, he was kissing her again, gently. Hermione would have sworn that Draco was not capable of anything that was gentle, nor capable of the kindness, the utter gentility he'd shown to her. It was, she realised as she kissed him back, a night of surprises. The fact that she was kissing him back, however, wasn't a surprise, not to her. Despite knowing who her knight errant was, his kisses were still delicious, touching a core of desire in her she scarcely knew existed, leaving her dizzy and breathless. Dimly, Hermione realised she was shivering, though whether from the night air or his touch, she didn't know.

"You're cold," he said softly, and it wasn't a question so much as a statement as he broke the kiss.

"A little," Hermione admitted, and she was surprised when Draco pulled his arms from about her and unfastened his cloak. Carefully, he wrapped her in it, and slid his arm about her waist. Hermione didn't protest either.

"I suppose this means something," he observed, taking off his mask.

"It means a lot of things." Hermione did the same, taking the time to look at him as he gazed out at the water. His profile was delicate, that was the only word for it. An expressive mouth matched with equally expressive eyes, eyes up until tonight she'd seen only filled with malice or anger. The change, she noted, was remarkable. They glittered silver with the reflected light of the moon, and his colour was like that of fresh cream. _Yes_, she realised, _this is why girls have a crush on him despite how he acts. He's gorgeous like this._

"I've been wrong."

Hermione was more startled to hear this out of his mouth than to be kissed by him. "What?" she asked softly.

"Oh, sure, now you can go tell Potter and Weasley you heard me admit I'm wrong," he replied, the bitterness creeping back into his voice and eyes.

"No, no, no," she said softly, soothingly. "I just wanted to know what you think you were wrong about." Hermione could rattle off a list of possibilities, but this side of Draco intrigued her.

He turned his head to look at her, something softening in his expression as he saw her without the mask. "I thought you were an insufferable know-it-all, and then Weasley's boring little girlfriend, and finally our perfect Head Girl, but that's not it. You wear masks, Hermione."

It was startling to hear him call her by her given name, not just Granger as he usually did when forced to refer to her at all. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," he insisted. "You play all those parts time and time again, and the one night you're out here with a complete stranger actually wearing a mask, you're more honest than ever. I've watched you. I watch a lot of people. Part of the whole 'I'm creepy, I'm a Slytherin and I'm a Malfoy' routine. But I never really saw it until tonight."

"I do what I have to do," she replied, feeling almost empty.

"No, you do what you think you have to do. You don't love Weasley, you just told me as much before the revalations of midnight rolled around. So why wear the dutiful girlfriend mask?"

"Fiancée," she corrected, holding out her left hand with the topaz.

Draco made a disapproving noise and shook his head. "Typical. No taste in jewellery. A topaz? And in that kind of setting? What was he thinking?"

"My sentiments, exactly." It was more than slightly odd to sit here and talk about Ron with Draco Malfoy, and then about his taste in jewellery.

"I would think something other than white gold, and let's not touch the stone choice here. At least a better setting, honestly, or a different cut...maybe a marquis, but definitely not princess. Weasley doesn't have a clue, does he?"

"No," Hermione admitted, "none at all. Not about me."

"Then why suffer it? Why not throw that ring at his feet and find your Prince Charming somewhere else?"

"I can't...and there is no Prince Charming, that's a dumb fairytale they tell girls to make them passive."

"You seem to have bought the passivity routine, then."

An angry retort was on her lips, and Hermione was flushed until she realised within a split-second that he was right. "Since I started being with Ron, I suppose so."

"You could do better."

"Ron's a nice guy!" Hermione protested almost immediately. "Sweet and kind, and he's always there-"

"Then why are you miserable if he's so magnificent? Look, I hate doing the advice thing, and why I'm still sitting here with you, I'll never know and I'll never hear the last of it. But Hermione, you've got to open your eyes. Take off that mask. I like you without it."

That was almost too much for Hermione. "You like me without it? Me, a mudblood? You tormented me for years, Draco! I wasn't good enough for you and your pureblooded ideas! And now you like me without it!"

"I told you I was wrong! Wrong about a lot of things. Wrong about you." The last sentence was almost inaudible, and Hermione almost didn't catch it. He was looking out at the water again, as if embarassed by his sudden revalation and confession.

"I think I might have been wrong, too," she told him softly.

"No," he corrected her, "you're still right about me. I'm still a miserable, insufferable git who thinks he's better than a lot of people. I still am mean, I'm still a prat who has to get his own way. It's a Malfoy thing."

"I don't think you are."

He looked at her again, something uncertain in her silvery eyes. "Why not?"

"If you were, you would have left to brag about how you got a cheap feel by the lake and gossip about how Granger and Weasley aren't as perfect as they want the world to think they are. You would have delighted in my misery, not tried to get me to walk away from it."

"I still think you ought to," he said.

"Ought to what?"

"Walk away. Find a different boyfriend."

Hermione chuckled. "Like who?"

"Well...." Draco paused. "Granted, we can't all be blessed with the amazing looks I happen to have, as well as natural talent, charm and a pedigree longer than my left leg, but Potter is a step up."

Hermione laughed at that, her cheeks flushing. "This coming from you is nothing short of a miracle."

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, almost awkwardly. "Yes, well, he's not exactly my first choice, either."

"Who is your first choice, then?"

Draco frowned a little. "I thought I knew." 

"Don't you?" Hermione asked, leaning a little closer as they talked.

"Not anymore." Once more, he bridged the distance between them to claim her lips with his own. Hermione didn't resist, quite the contrary; she clutched tighter to him, the kiss she returned searching, questioning, as if she could know him, understand him simply through that act alone. Hermione felt as if she could, as if she knew him better in that moment than she'd ever known Ron. She was a part of him.

__

"Oh, my God," Harry said softly, his eyes towards the lake, fixed on a pair of lovers bathed in the moonlight. One silver-haired, the other chestnut, and he could tell there was a pair of wings beneath the cloak. Hermione and..._Draco_? "Ron," Harry croaked, but before he could say anything more, Ron seemed to embody the Viking costume he wore. He drew himself up, and Harry saw colour flush his face, direct evidence that he was furious. This, Harry realised, was going to be awful.

"Get your dirty hands off of her, you bastard!" Ron roared, launching himself towards a startled Hermione and Draco. Draco pulled away from Hermione, and just as he began to rise to meet the enraged Weasley, Ron tackled him about the waist, sending the pair head over feet down the bank and into the lake with a terrific splash. Hermione screamed, and Harry, quick as ever, was following them down to the water's edge. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to break up the fight, or break Draco's face. Ron had already landed a solid punch to Draco's cheek, and Draco, for his part, had managed to squirm away and nail Ron in the nose with a resounding crunch of broken bones. Tempers flared and insults were traded between blows as Harry tried to worm his way between the two, taking the opprotunity to swing at Draco whenever it came up. He was surprised by Draco's dexterity, though he shouldn't have been. They had faced off enough times on the Quidditch pitch, and Draco was just as quick there as he was here. Harry was distinctly waterlogged, his cloak slowing him down, and Ron was never very nimble to begin with, and while enraged, even less so. Draco had the upper hand, and cracked Harry in the eye with ease, the leather gloves stinging more that skin. Finally, Hermione ran to the water, and pulled back Draco's arm.

"Enough!" she cried, and Draco turned. He was bedraggled, and his pale cheek was already beginning to bruise. Hermione's heart nearly broke to look at him like that, to look at Ron with a bloody nose, and disheveled and soaked Harry. Draco's cloak had been left behind, and her satin skirts soaked up the water, giving the angel an air of Ophelia as well. "Just stop it, both of you," she said, softly.

"Hermione, what the hell is going on here?" demanded Ron, storming over to her, but Draco held up his hand, and Harry held Ron back, wanting to see where this went.

"I am going to rust if I stand here much longer, Weasley. And she'll freeze," Draco announced, the familiar draw returning to his voice. He looked at Hermione, who was already beginning to shiver, and nodded a little. Offering her a hand, he helped Hermione out of the water, then stepped up onto the bank himself. Ron and Harry, dumbfounded, remained frozen where they were. Draco looked at them, and sniffed derisively before turning his attention back to Hermione. "Get yourself dry and warm." Picking up his cloak he draped it around her shoulders. "Goodnight, Hermione," Draco said softly, taking her hand and squeezing it a little before marching stiffly towards the castle.

"What was that?" Ron finally demanded of Hermione, hauling himself out of the water as Harry did likewise. "What happened here? What were you two doing?"

Hermione drew herself up, pulling Draco's cloak more tightly about her. "What the hell do you care, Ronald Weasley?" she spat at him before turning herself and marching to the castle.

"Harry?" Ron asked, turning to his dripping friend. 

Harry shook his head. It seemed things were falling apart faster than either he or Ginny imagined. Now all he could do was get them both patched up. Ron's nose was bleeding, and his lip was split, and Harry was nursing a black eye. "C'mon, Ron the Red. There's nothing we can do tonight. And your nose is at an interesting angle."

Ron scowled. "We could go ambush him."

Harry shook his head, wringing out his cloak. "He's expecting that. Let's get patched up. We'll figure this out in the morning."

_I am in heaven, yet in hell. Exstacy and torture all at once, and I am deliriously happy, moreso than I can ever recall being. And all because of the Masquerade, my mask and Draco. I must be mad. Ginny certainly thinks I am. She helped me get out of the wings, and only asked if I was alright. I think she knows something happened. I just don't think she knows what. I thought a shower and a return to my normal clothes, my pyjamas and dressing gown would make the world seem normal again, but it doesn't. I'm so glad. I couldn't bear normal life, not after this. Ron's ring is sitting in my jewelery box, along with the necklace he gave me and the rose petals. I can't wear it now, not with Draco's kisses still burning on my lips. He suggested I find a new boyfriend. Harry, he told me, was a step up. But I wonder if he was suggesting someone different… I am mad, I must be. He's been our enemy for so long…how in one night has the world changed so drastically? How have we both become different people with one kiss? My world has changed, turned on its head and I should dance for joy because of it. A gift given by a dragon whom I thought only breathes fire, but I found can speak honeyed words. A dragon who has changed, and who has changed me. _

The world has shattered. I no longer see myself in the looking glass. And I'm glad.

**********

Oooh, guys and gaias, the eternal question-now what? Plots, plans and ruminations abound, along with messages, Hermione being told off finally and the Gryffindor War Council. This really is turning into "West Side Story". If I have Hermione break out into "Tonight" then permission is granted to remove me from the SS Leather Trousers. And how does a Weasley plan to unleash hell? 

Faith (formerly Griff, I believe): I see you're not liking the pairing? I guess I needed a ship disclaimer. Keyara: I always need to see more Draco. It's a side-effect of my insanity. And thank you for the praise. AngieJ (aka Ebony): I'm simply honoured that you came by to read my humble fic. I could fall into the Draco/Ginny camp, but schnooglepuss in TiP just killed that for me. Barb LP: I try to make things plausible, and I depend on my beta read (*waves to Valkyrja*) and my reviewers to keep me from getting too far out in left field. And I'm glad you like my disclaimers. 


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